


After Tears

by doodlebutt



Series: All the Pieces of Our Lives [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Gen, Post-Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Rating May Change, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, im sorry what did you expect, so much pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 10:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5782882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlebutt/pseuds/doodlebutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This will be a direct continuation of Noldor Falling once I get to that point in the story. Until then, it's just another fragment of pain in the lives of these poor characters. Enjoy! ***NEEDS EDITING -- NO LONGER SERIES-COMPLIANT as of Jan 2017***</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Tears

They had crossed the river some time ago, and the Moon was rising above the windswept land as the Sons of Fëanor halted by unspoken agreement below a spreading, almost cavernous tree. Maglor was leaning heavily on Celegorm, and his armour shone red even in the pale moonlight; there had not been time to stop and tend to each other’s injuries. Caranthir had not spoken since the treachery of Ulfang had been revealed, and Maedhros had refused to meet anyone’s eyes for a long while now (not since the aftermath and the search, but no-one would speak or even think of that). Amras was silent as always, hiding his injuries well and walking a little way apart from the others.

On closer inspection the inside of the tree had rotted away to leave a hollow shell of moderate width, and after a long minute during which Curufin checked the inside and no-one spoke a single word they filed into the dry, brown space through a drooping crack in the wall of the trunk. The air seemed close and almost cramped after the open lands behind them; six sets of breath in one small hollow and still no-one would speak or even look at each other. Maglor’s gasp of pain as Celegorm lowered them both to the ground broke the strained silence, and Curufin knelt quickly beside him.

“Show me, Káno.” Maglor pointed shakily to his right leg and side, letting out a sharp hiss of pain as Curvo parted the broken plates of armour and leather that covered his wounds. He glanced briefly up at Maedhros for some distraction (he had always looked after him, Maitimo was always there to pick up the pieces, and so it hurt that much more now to see him white-faced and staring into the distance, blank and unseeing and yet with such anguish written in his face) and then quickly looked away, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. Across the hollow he saw Caranthir sit down heavily on the muddy leaves and pour some water over a deep cut on his arm, tipping his head back to press against the side of the tree and gritting his teeth against the pain. Then his vision darkened with renewed agony as Curufin took some herbs from a hidden pouch and washed out his injuries, and he bit back a cry of pain.

Celegorm then got up again and walked back out of the narrow gap in the tree, ducking slightly to avoid a trailing creeper. He felt stifled and enclosed with so much pain in one small space. At least there had been space around them when – no, no, he would not (could not) think of that. He let out a sigh as he looked across the land, grey under the bleak moonlight, and closed his eyes to try and banish thought and pain both together. It did not work, and he could feel the wet cling of the fabric on his hip where his own blood had soaked into it more noticeably now that they had ceased their desperate flight. He barely noticed Amras beside him until he felt the light brush of a hand on his arm.

They didn’t need words; not that they would have found any if they did.

Amras didn’t stay long outside; there was far too much inside to worry about, too much that could not be allowed to happen (not again, not now), and before long he was kneeling at Maglor’s side with Curufin, ignoring the pain in his side and chest and trying to help where he could. He noticed that Maedhros had still not sat down; in fact he had barely moved since they had arrived – but he did not notice Caranthir as he got up and left the hollow of the tree.

“You think this is my fault.”

“Yes.” Celegorm did not need to look to know who was beside him. Silence flowed around them with the wind. “They were your men.”

“I did not know -”

“They were your men! You – you should have known, you shouldn’t have – they shouldn’t have -” He realised he was trembling, fists clenched at his sides, and the anger of the battle, of the betrayal, of everything, it was –

“I didn’t -”

“THEY WERE YOUR MEN!”

Caranthir only nodded, and turned away.

Celegorm’s shout blended painfully into Maglor’s fever-dream, filling his mind with flashes of what they had run from. Curufin was frowning now, and muttering something about needing to get somewhere with actual resources and a place of healing – he would have told Maitimo, would have looked to him for guidance, but he knew it would be of no use. Amras had closed his eyes and was leaning back against the tree, pain shooting through his side with every breath (nothing that required attention, nothing that was worse than Káno – nothing that was important right now), and neither Caranthir nor Celegorm had returned from outside. And then Maedhros let out a breath, grey eyes wide as he slid down the inside of the tree-wall with his armour catching on bits of splintery wood, still looking at nothing but somehow doing it with more intensity as he found the floor and sat there unmoving. Had Maglor been aware, it would have scared him (always the closest to him, always the one with the most faith in their eldest brother, the most understanding of their Nelyafinwë), but only Curufin was paying attention, and suddenly he felt the responsibility as a great weight settle upon him – the responsibility of keeping five brothers safe against everything that would wish otherwise. Whatever would follow, at this moment there was no-one else who could.

***

The Sun rose, and found them much as the Moon had left them. Celegorm had climbed up into the branches of the tree, and if he noticed the bough reddening below him he ignored it. Caranthir sat slumped at the base of the tree, the sunlight illuminating the angry gash on his arm that he had not bothered to bind. Within the hollow Maedhros still had not moved or spoken, and Maglor lay with his head in Curufin’s lap and his hair tangled with blood (and what a cruel reversal Curufin felt, to be caring for his elder brother like this, this was not how it should be), neither awake nor fully asleep. He looked up at Amras then and was shocked to see how much he resembled Nelyo (and it hurt to realise that it was in the way he held himself, the pain on his face, the exhausted set of his features – since when had these become the marks his brother could be recognised by?).

“Ambarussa.” Amras did not open his eyes.

“Please don’t call me that.”

Silence, uncomfortable and unbroken save for Maglor’s ragged breathing.

“Amras. Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“You are.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters.” Amras opened his eyes then to meet Curufin’s, and they were cold and emotionless despite the pain written in the faint lines of his face.

“I can deal with this on my own.”

Curufin sighed, tossed a small bunch of herbs across the empty space to Amras, and pushed Maglor’s curls away from his face with a damp strip of cloth torn earlier from one of their shirts.

“How is he?” Curvo looked up, eyes wide in shock, for that cracked, breaking voice did not belong to Amras (or Tyelko, or Moryo). One corner of Maedhros’ mouth lifted slightly in some broken ghost of a smile and he let out a slow breath, eyes now present and focused (though he kept them lowered lest his brothers should see the depth of his pain; they must never know, they could never know this truth). “You can stop looking at me like that, Curufinwë; I’m not going to break.” (It takes more than this to break Maitimo; surely, surely this cannot be worse than what he has endured. Surely not – but somehow it is.)

And just like that, the dreadful weight of his brothers’ lives lifted once more from Curufin’s shoulders. He had faith in Maitimo (just as he had had faith in their father, something whispered, but he did not listen), and that was enough. It would have to be.


End file.
